


got bad news coming

by infinitehearts



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Image Consultant Rey, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rock Star Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28518873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitehearts/pseuds/infinitehearts
Summary: Ben Solo, stage name Kylo Ren, has it all. He’s topping the charts, and his third album is in production. Except, of course, for one problem: his downright awful reputation. Rey Johnson is climbing up the ladder in her career, except she hasn't had a client in months. For the low, low price of a cross-country move, First Order Records offers her the chance of a lifetime: to clean up the not-so-good public image of Kylo Ren in time for the release of his third studio album. But all that glitters is not gold, and the contract looks too good to be true. Is he truly everything they say he is? And will either of them escape this job unchanged?
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Um... I'm not cut out for the textfic life, but this idea was still living rent-free, so long-form it is. Check out what I abandoned over on twitter @infinitexhearts, and enjoy the ride over here!

**Her –**

She didn’t want to take the contract. The rumors, after all, had to have some truth to them.

But… the pay was good, and the company was willing to subsidize her cross country move. And it would mean that she was moving up in the world. Out of the little leagues, and into the long game. Rey Johnson might not be a household name, but she’d have her name in the right mouths if she was a success over the coming months. Of course, it just had to be _him._ The most hated rock star in Hollywood, and probably the most hated individual in the entire entertainment industry.

Kylo Ren.

It was the offer of a lifetime, and it looked too good to be true. He was said to be brash, and hateful, and blacklisted by any image consultant worth their shit. But his name had a reputation attached, and clout to match. If he were merely listed as a client in her portfolio, she’d be making a vertical career move. And over the past year, her friends had all made the jump to full-time California living.

New York wasn’t offering her any jobs, and she wasn’t about to accept the only other “offer” she’d received: one from Unkar Plutt, the man who’d caused her pain until she’d aged out of the system, to clean up the public opinion of some of his shadiest associates back in Jakku, New Mexico. That was a place she never wanted to return to, not even if the world was falling at her feet.

She’d survived Plutt, as nothing but a plucky kid with an affinity for putting things back together, even when she’d had to cobble the parts together from mere scraps. Kylo Ren had a cult following, and while the industry might have plenty of nasty things to say about him, she could put up with a man that carried a chip on his shoulder. And there had never been any cap placed on the reimbursement she was to receive for moving, so she could indulge, just a little. Really, it would be a disservice to herself to not take the job.

It was only nine months, and it wasn’t like she was even being asked to do a whole lot. Maintain, or improve, fan involvement to ensure a successful launch of Ren’s third album. Rey could have done that in her sleep, probably.

She curled up into a ball, thumbs pressed into her temples. She’d sleep on it, but it was her first offer in months. Unless there was something else that just dropped into her lap so perfectly overnight, she’d be scheduling flights, shipping her essentials, and renting an apartment first thing after breakfast.

At least she could guarantee that she’d have a team at her disposal. First Order Records kept their home office down the coast from Los Angeles County, tucked away in Chandrilla, a city no less prestigious, but less well known by the masses. 45 minutes away from the majority of preferred professionals, but home to her closest friends. A stylist, a photographer, and the duo behind one of the hottest up-and-coming fashion houses in the world.

***

A chill ran down her spine as she boarded the plane. Rey wasn’t used to this level of luxury, but Hux ( he’d vehemently denied her use of mister, insisting that it was his father’s title, not his) had insisted she spare no expense for her accommodations on the Ren contract. Getting on this plane and sitting in a seat where she had ample room and wasn’t next to a screaming baby just made it real. Someone was desperate, and she was the sorry sap that had agreed to take the job.

But she had signed her name on the dotted line, with no intention of failure. Despite the extremely generous upfront allowance she had been given for her flight, housing, and other expenses, with promise of an additional amount allotted for her personal use every month of the job, not included in the quoted payment for the job, she still thought the in-flight wifi was a waste of money, even if it would have been nice to make plans to meet up with the gang before she landed. It was why she was pulling notebooks and pens and folders from her carry-on bag, full on everything she could possibly pull from the internet in a matter of days on Kylo Ren.

She was going to know what she was walking into before the plane landed at LAX. The Uber ride into Chandrilla was plenty of time to make a plan, so long as she could get through the gossip mill into the nitty gritty of who Kylo Ren was.

The only thing she was truly ashamed of, when she had gone through her mountain of printed documents, was that she hadn’t found his face. Kylo Ren’s gimmick, as it were, was that he’d never been seen without the mask. If he were officially attending an interview, an awards show, a performance, or even one of those charity events that were just excuses for the rich to schmooze, his real face was covered up with metallicized plastic and dark tinted glass. This one fact was very good for him, for his ability to go undiscovered into the world, but left Rey in a dour mood. It was hard to read a person without seeing them, and it made it even harder to figure out where to begin. Or, at least, where to begin with that line of questioning.

The damn mask would have to go. Because she was going to go above and beyond with this contract. The music, despite its dark leanings, was good. Not mainstream, but worthy of the cult following it had attracted. After picking through layers of hurt feelings and personal biases, the only thing she’d found Ren to be guilty of was a nasty mouth and a bad attitude.

And walls about a mile high against showing any kind of vulnerability or kindness. Except, of course, in a tiny sub-reddit. She hadn’t printed anything but a few screen-captures of the post titles, but it was about the only thing that she’d found worth investigating. “Pics from Ren’s St. Jude visits” and “receipts for the ASPCA donation” were at odds with the whole image that the rest of the business painted of Kylo Ren.

“Please ensure your seatbelts are fastened as we prepare for landing at LAX.”

The plane might have been landing, but it felt like her thoughts were spiraling off in the wind. If she could reconcile… all of this… there was no doubt in her mind that she’d bring up public support for Kylo Ren, but that she could possibly help him send his third album up, all the way to the top of the charts.

***

The bar Rey was meeting her friends at was somewhat off of the beaten path, nothing but a door with a sign stuck between an Urban Outfitters and some lawyer’s office. But the liquor was supposedly cheap, and the vibe unbeatable. As she climbed the stairs, expecting to be carded, it was a shock that she could just walk right on into the bar, straight off the steps. It wasn’t a crowded kind of place, and between Kaydel’s twin buns and Rose’s squealing laughter, it wasn’t as if it was hard to find her friends at all.

“Peanut, you made it!”

“Shots! We need shots to celebrate Rey’s big move!”

She settled in, between Rose and the edge of the booth, still taking in the room around her as Poe slid out opposite her, in search of the shots he seemed like he really didn’t need.

“So, Reyrey, who’s your client? I mean, you took the contract, obviously, and it’s great that you’re here, but it had to be a bigger name if you came cross country.” Rose bumped her shoulder, eyes wide and hungry for gossip.

“I’m… not really supposed to say much. If everything goes well though… I’ll be moving up. Way up.”

She should have known, though, that her best friends could see right through her, when she was hiding the good gossip.

“Okay, spill. Who’s contract was so good that it’ll launch… ohmygod! We’d heard rumors, but, you _didn’t._ ”

“I didn’t, what, exactly?”

“Doesn’t matter, peanut. Rosie’s grasping at straws. Just tell us who you’re taking on.”

Rey knew that she’d gotten caught in the trap, and even Poe, with his tray of shots, was leaning in, waiting for her to answer.

“I took on Kylo Ren’s contract, okay? Nine months…”

They weren’t listening, though, and Rey found it easier to just stop trying to talk, because she couldn’t hear herself, and knew that her friends definitely couldn’t.

“You’re shitting us, right?”

“She’s got to be shitting us! No one would willingly work with him.”

Well, she had thought she would have her friends at her back, but with this reaction, she was starting to wonder if she needed to get started with hiring a team. She didn’t particularly care for vodka, but the only drink she had on the table was one of the shots Poe had brought back, and if she was going to have to put up with this, she needed something stiff. She threw back her glass, grimacing as the liquor burnt all the way down.

“This is why I wasn’t going to tell you shitheads.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she hadn’t worn a sweater, because the bar air was getting warm, even if the wind outside was quite nippy. If she wasn’t trying so damn hard to enjoy her first night on the West Coast, she’d be leaving. These were the people she trusted the most in the world to have her back, and even they thought she was making a mistake. She’d expected it from the media, of course, as he was the problem child of Rock, but her friends she’d expected to support her, at least until she’d actually met him.

Was it really too good to be true? Had she just committed career ruin, instead of rocking herself to new heights?

“You’ve signed the contract, right? Rey?”

“Yes. I did.”

Rose put her hand on Rey’s shoulder, turning her taller friend towards her while letting out a sigh. “He’s not what you’re expecting, no matter how much digging you’ve done. He’s hard to work with, but if anyone’s going to do something positive to his image, it’s you. Just, don’t be hurt if it doesn’t work, okay? We’ll help, but we’re a little shocked right now.”

“Well, I guess I’ll find out in the morning.”

The first meeting was always the most important, anyway. She gathered her things, just her bag really, and slid out of the booth. “Do I have a better chance getting an Uber or a Lyft from here? I’ve got a few more things I need to do tonight.”

***

If the movers had left her boxes anywhere but in the doorway of her pre-paid apartment, she would have fainted. As it was, she was just shoving them further into the living space, hoping that nothing broke. Her furniture looked to be intact, through the piles upon piles of boxes. Tomorrow, after her meeting with Ren, she’d sort the rest of her life out. Tonight, sorting out her bed and laptop would suffice.

She wanted to check out that sub-reddit again, and actually be able to read what was posted. Even if everyone was trying to warn her away from Kylo Ren, she wasn’t about to pass judgement before she met him. He could be the worst person she’d ever met, or maybe no one had took the time to get him to warm up before they passed judgement.

After all, the longer she scrolled through the reddit forum, the more sentiment she found for this monster and his band. It seemed that, truly, Kylo Ren was a mystery, in both appearance and morals, who just happened to cultivate the bad far more than the good.

It took extra digging, of course, but it had happened. St. Jude had written a small puff piece on Ren’s visit, and the ASPCA had him mentioned by name in their Annual Report due to the size of his donation. But even though they were relatively recent, they weren’t shown in the news results for his name, at all.

Who was Kylo Ren, really? And why did it feel like every time that she thought that she’d figured it out, she found something else to complicate the picture. Rey shut her laptop, and sat it down on the floor, even though she wanted to sling it haphazardly instead of using the extra ounce of effort. She knew she needed to sleep, if she was going to be at her best for her meeting, but for the first time in years, she couldn’t shut her brain off.

Not only were thoughts of the Ren contract taking up space, but she was starting to question if she should have stayed in New York. Sure, she had nine months to figure things out, but if things here crashed and burnt, she worried that she’d be ensuring that she’d be out of a job, permanently.

It wouldn’t do to think like that, this early on. Rey knew that she had to had hope. Even if they weren’t happy about, she had her favorite people at her back, and she’d bounced back from worse.

No, this was not going to break her. This was the job that would keep work coming until she was ready to be done.

As for Kylo Ren, he would just have to get with the program. And like it. She was not the nanny for a petulant child, after all. She was a professional, working with other professionals. There would be some pushback, of course, because it was _literally_ her job to break down his brand and rebuild from the bottom up, but she wanted reasonable requests met with reasonable responsiveness. Yes, Rey knew how to be stubborn, but she considered herself to be a rather… flexible consultant. Clients rarely fell off the deep end if they had room to push and breathe, something that she felt all those “momagers” needed to learn.

There. She’d settled the worse of her toiling thoughts, and the rest would be chased away by a warm oolong latte. Or perhaps a chai, instead. No, the oolong was in the top of the box labelled “Kitchen”, so it would have to do.

A warm oolong latte for now, and then, in the morning, she’d reveal her hand to Kylo Ren. A sense of peace had settled in Rey’s mind, body, and soul as she picked herself up off the couch and made a quick pitstop in the kitchen before going on to make up her bed and turn in for the night.

**Him –**

Cardo’s bass drum was in absolute ruin, and Kylo only felt a little remorse for the destruction he had caused. He’d replace it, as he always did, but if the entire band had known what was waiting for him in Conference Room 2, they should have given him at least a little warning.

At least it was a drum, instead of Armitage Hux’s ribcage. But he didn’t feel any better. It didn’t matter if it would help him to secure his purchase of shares and his way to majority shareholder on the Board of Directors for First Order Records. They knew that Hux had brought in _Rey Johnson_ to **_fix him._** They didn’t understand how much of an insult it was, the implication that he, and he alone, needed fixing. His “name” graced the charts, but the fans who gave a damn about the music were there for the Knights of Ren just as much as they were for him. Sure, he could write a song about all the shit he’d been through, but it was his band that did the heavy lifting.

And yet, it was still him they wouldn’t leave alone. He couldn’t be allowed to self-destruct, if he were to be the shining star of First Order. And despite his tirades in crime, and drugs, and his less than pristine attitude, his music still found its way to the charts.

A heady sigh escaped his lips as he backed away from the destroyed drum, as well as the rest of the set, surveying the multiple splinters he’d given himself from going too hard on the hickory drumsticks. An older pair of sticks, no doubt. He’d been pushing the poor drums hard, but not near as hard as Cardo often would. It was why they’d switched from a maple stick to hickory, because of the increased resilience. His stress relief had just been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

When the shares were in his name, he wouldn’t have to worry about things like image consultants anymore. The best music came out of letting artists create, however they chose. But the purchase had to go through first. Alistair Snoke might have kicked the bucket, but it didn’t mean that his shares in the company were free for the taking.

If he had been on better terms with her, Kylo would have called his mom. She’d gotten a law degree before she had catapulted into political office, and she would have known exactly what to do to make his acquisition and rise in power go over smoothly. But he hadn’t spoken to her in years, not even for a mere passing nicety. So he picked at the ragged cuticle of his left thumbnail, and looked up at the ceiling of the studio.

Perhaps Rey Johnson was his only option for things to go over smoothly in his rise to CEO of the board. It was a sour notion. If the new album performed well, it was supposed to be because of the music, not because of whatever publicity stunt some nobody instructed him to pretend was his own idea. Kylo entertained the notion that she was truly terrible at her job, and that the nine months she’d be around would be no different than the nine months leading up to any other album release before, but it didn’t fail to aggravate him too. If she were that bad, it would reflect poorly on him, as it meant no one in the industry was willing to attempt working with him.

He needed a distraction. A loud distraction because thinking about anything to do with _that woman_ was irritating. Briefly, he considered picking someone up, out of the long list of numbers from people only looking for that same thing, then taking them to a hotel, but sex just wasn’t going to cut it. No, sobriety was what was making this so difficult. A stiff drink or five would help more than anything else in this town.

***

His head was pounding when he finally stumbled out of the cab, up to his front gate.

“V-vic, what’s the code?”

Kylo had lost count at around 8 Old-Fashioned’s, and there was no telling what else he’d had in-between those. It had certainly wiped all talk of image consultants from his brain, but it had also wiped his recently changed gate code from his brain. Vicrul, who’d had the least to drink, seemed like his best bet at someone remembering so they could all get inside before getting arrested for public intoxication.

It only took Vic a lazy shove to move Kylo away from the keypad, and a matter of seconds to successfully open the gate. “You smell like scotch, man.”

“Least I don’t smell like piss.”

As the seven of them fumbled through the gate, they erupted in laughter. The band was the friends, the family, that Kylo had always wanted. They’d each been through some shit, sure, and maybe they didn’t always walk the straight and narrow coping with their shit, but he could usually count on them to have his back.

Once he’d found his way into the house and out of his jeans, Rey Johnson came floating back to mind. The Knights hadn’t warned him about her, but maybe they were just watching his back again. After all, he knew how poorly he caught his own spirals.

Well, he still didn’t have to be happy about it, but perhaps he could try, for a little while. He filed the thought away to deal with when the warmth of the alcohol was no longer coasting in his veins, and promptly proceeded to drop down into Ushar’s lap to figure out what his band had decided to cast to his TV.

***

Calls from numbers he didn’t recognize were common, but it was uncommon for them to leave a voicemail. He didn’t want to check it, because he’d always made it clear that he preferred text or email for any communication that had to be sent over.

It was probably some telemarketer, looking to sell him an extended warranty on a car he didn’t have. Had it not been for the red notification bubble indicating an unopened recording, it wouldn’t have been a problem to ignore.

He made it to lunch before the nagging bubble became too annoying to ignore. He could just delete the voicemail, and it’d leave him alone. Fifteen seconds, and he could get back to enjoying his dim sum.

Well, he could have, if he hadn’t hit play trying to move his thumb over to the delete icon.

“Hi, this is Rey Johnson, calling to set up a second, less formal meeting to discuss what you’re wishing to accomplish through my services. Feel free to give me a call back at xxx-xxx-xxxx, whenever is convenient for you.”

He was fucked. One, because the reality of the image consultant thing came crashing back into his mind, on top of the remains of his bender from the night before. Two, because she was being so civil about upending his entire life, even after he’d ignored her in their original meeting. And three, because whatever she wanted to call those clashing British lilt and Brooklyn accent, was making his dick swell in his pants, even though he wanted to hate her guts with every fiber of his being.

His appetite was gone, even though his pad thai was from that little place on the corner of 2nd and Main that he loved so much but rarely treated himself to. He’d have to call her back. Even if he was made out to be the worst personality in the industry, he had been raised with manners. So, as it was the polite thing to do, he clicked to call her back.

(If he hoped that she didn’t answer, well, he’d take that thought to his grave.)

The phone rang once, then twice.

She answered before it could ring a third time.

“Rey Johnson. I presume this is Mr. Ren?”

“Just Kylo is fine, Miss Johnson.”

“Well, Kylo, you can just call me Rey. Is there a particular day and time that works best for you to meet?”

He didn’t exactly have anything major scheduled for the week, and he wondered if his week was so empty on purpose.

“Tomorrow, noon sharp. I prefer to spend as much time in the studio as possible.”

That would work, right? If things weren’t going well, he could easily excuse himself back to the studio, or to lunch, and he’d be able to wear his mask to the meeting. Just to bring the meeting to his further advantage, of course.

“Well, thank you for your time, I’ll see you tomorrow at noon in Conference Room 2.”

Rey Johnson appeared to be much smarter than he had originally taken her for, with how easily she had turned his own suggestion into a power play. He did, however, like a challenge. Rey would be wrong if she thought that she could intimidate him into playing by the rules with a pocket full of quick tricks. As he understood it, it would merely be the two of them in this meeting, and it would be the perfect chance for him to turn the tables on her little show of dominance.

Yes, there was going to be a mutual understanding put on the table tomorrow, and he was going to make sure that Rey Johnson knew she was going to be the one making concessions for the next nine months. Whatever she thought that she was up to was going to be thoroughly nipped in the bud, and he was going to detail just exactly enough she would be allowed to arrange that she would get paid for her time at the median rate her contract stipulated.

He could be cruel, sure, but he didn’t consider himself the monster he was often made out to be. Just because he was pissed that someone (probably that rat bastard Hux, if he were naming names) thought he needed an image consultant didn’t mean he was going to totally upend the girl’s life for attempting to do what she had expected to get paid for.

The front door slammed, breaking him out of his dismissal induced rage. He’d thought the Knights had all been gone when he’d come to still on his own couch, but he hadn’t actually thought to check the guest rooms because of the roaring hangover. His pad thai was cold, but he hadn’t planned to finish it after that call anyway. It just felt like a waste to throw it away, even if the meal had been but a drop in the bucket of his finances.

He shut the container and pushed away from the table to go put it in the fridge. It’d still probably get thrown away, but at least then he wouldn’t have to feel the guilt of doing it himself.

His day had been obnoxiously destroyed by the phone, and another night of drinking sounded like a good way to de-stress, again. But his sense of responsibility thought otherwise. It looked like the only escape he was going to get was the kind that involved lots of heavy lifting.

***

He wasn’t about to be an idiot and use the bench without a spotter. Frankly, he knew that he lived alone back when he’d bought the damn thing, and it still astonished him that he’d dropped the money on the weight bench anyway. Then again, to be a musician of lesser fame due to his reputation, he always felt like he was rolling in more money than he knew what to do with.

He sat down on the end of one of his most useless purchases to date, a dumbbell in his left hand. His entire body was starting to ache from how intensely he had been pushing himself, but 45 minutes in, the ache still wasn’t enough to shake Rey Johnson from his thoughts. He’d met her, spoke to her, for perhaps fifteen minutes total, and already, she was living rent-free in his mind, where Kylo most certainly did not want her to be.

It wasn’t like he was even going to get a song out of this whole shtick. Every moment he dreaded the meeting he had to go to was yet another moment that seemed to drag on for millennia. Sure, absently, he knew that it hadn’t been long since he’d started his workout, but everything he usually found enjoyable for working out his stress was making him more irritable than he was to begin with. It was truly beginning to become a pointless affair.

Maybe his body would kill him in the coming hours, but he dropped the dumbbell without a second thought at taking even a minute to walk around his home gym and cool off. It wasn’t working, and he was done entertaining the notion that it ever might get him out of his damn head.

It was just as easy to be a bummer sitting on the couch with some bad reality show playing on his television as it was to be a bummer working out and pretending that he could put off the meeting that he was both wishing away and ready to get over with.

**Them –**

When noon came around, neither Kylo Ren nor Rey Johnson made it to Conference Room 2 for their bitching match. Instead, they found each other mere minutes before noon in the only elevator in the building, both heading for the second floor where they had planned to meet.

“You!” she had exclaimed, hands flying to her hips.

“Me? I’m always here. The question to be asked is why _you_ were up in the offices before our meeting,” he’d snarled, never missing a beat.

Perhaps it had always been going to go badly, but never had Armitage Hux expected to get a good eyeful of just how poorly the image consultant was going over with the biggest talent the company had, who was, without a shadow of a doubt, going to be in charge of the entire shebang in approximately two weeks. But there he was, watching them step out of the elevator, voices already raised and wearing looks he hoped to never be on the receiving end of.

“At least I don’t wear a bloody mask inside my own workplace. D’you ever think you could’ve avoided the publicity troubles if they could see a mug on you?”

If they hadn’t gained a crowd merely because they were blocking the elevator, they surely would have at that very moment, because Kylo ripped off his mask and gave it a sling, across the foyer, and directly into the glass of the break room door’s window. Typically, everyone knew of Ren’s antics, and proceeded on with their day like nothing happened. But this was not one of the typically antics, and it was difficult to ignore a pile of broken glass shattering the peace of the only relatively calm place on this particular floor of the building.

“Maybe the mask was the only reason they’d never blackballed me out of work, because this _mug_ as you call it comes with it’s own baggage.”

Hux absolutely loathed the amount of stairs it took to get from one floor of this building to another, but he’d rather climb that absurd amount of stairs than watch the ensuing fight any longer. To him, at least, there were only two outcomes to a fight so explosive: one of them would wring the other’s neck, or they’d be going like rabbits right there where anyone could possibly see.

First Order Records had been the talk of the gossip mill for months, it seemed, between the death of Snoke and the announcement of that Kylo Ren would be releasing is third studio album by the end of the year, but the amount of scandal that could come out of this blow up was enough to send Hux up those stairs two at a time. He needed to get damage control started as soon as possible if he didn’t want this incident to leave the walls of the building. He’d known that Ren was _that loud_ , but he had never expected the Johnson girl to be able to match Ren’s bluster.

At first, Miss Johnson had seemed like a blessing. She had done impressive repairs to the reputations of some of the most notorious politicians in New York, not to mention the fluffing of other, less notable clients. More than that, she had been willing to take the full nine-month contract for the quoted price. Hux had put out feelers to other professionals he knew in the area, and none of them had seemed interested at the rate First Order was offering to pay. Now, he wondered if she was going to turn into a nightmare. After all, she and Ren were already at odds with one another, and this was day two. Another nine months could send the entire company crashing to the ground if they couldn’t eventually stop fighting.

Hux looked towards the door from the stairwell to the third floor before resigning himself to the exercise of climbing all the way to his office. At least the stairwell was mostly quiet, whereas he believed that he’d be able to hear the screaming match all the way up if he were to attempt to take the elevator the rest of the way.

Only he could hire someone to make his life easier and end up making it much harder.

***

When the screaming was all said and done, Rey Johnson walked out the floor door of the building with her head held high, despite the things that Kylo Ren had said to her. Kylo Ren had stomped back into the elevator, mumbling something to himself in that way he did on occasion. The staff had learned not to bother with it, because for someone so often extremely loud, he got so quiet that they couldn’t hear him even inches away from him. Based off of what he’d been doing before that explosive interaction, they all assumed he was retreating back to the studio.

After a janitor finally cleaned up all the glass, only an intern, who’d come in after all the screaming was done, was brave enough to venture into the second-floor break room.

They let out what would have been an audible gasp, if anyone else had been around, snapped a quick picture, and returned to their desk. The company-wide Slack channel started blowing up not even a minute later. Most of the employees couldn’t believe their eyes.

It wasn’t the dented drywall that was alarming because that was _almost_ a typical day with Kylo in office. No, the excitement had been incited by Kylo Ren’s mask, sitting in the floor, shattered into a multitude of little pieces. The public had never known the face of the man behind the music, but it seemed they would learn it in the coming months.

That helm was in so many pieces it wasn’t even worth trying to fix, and with the hectic schedule of an album release, there wouldn’t be the time to have a new one designed, fitted, and produced.

The third era of Kylo Ren would truly be a sight to see, for how much was about to change.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time, no see! college really kicks-ass, simply because they're always asking for more :/
> 
> please note, the section after the last ** includes a brief mention of recreational/social drug use. it is not detailed, and is only two sentences, but please be kind to yourself if this is a sensitive subject. skip the paragraph after the dialogue that starts with "Wardrobe" to avoid it entirely, if you need to!

**Them –**

**_Kylo Ren Just Had Another Major Breakdown; Here’s What Happened_**

_By Jannah Calrissian_

_We all know about the antics of Kylo Ren by now, but he’s been out of the public eye for a few months, likely gearing up for the upcoming release of his third studio album, promised to be out before the end of the year. Thanks to an intern at First Order Records, who wished not to be named, we now have a glimpse into what’s going on behind the scenes._

_The source has detailed a major fight between Ren and recently brought in Rey Johnson, who we’ll get to momentarily. This is hardly out of character for Ren. Supposedly, Ren hurled his infamous mask across the building, but no proof or evidence of this currently exists._

_As for Johnson, some sleuthing has revealed the 26-year-old New Mexico native was recently an image consultant in New York; we can only wonder if she has taken a contract with an artist working for First Order. The fight would suggest that she’s traveled cross-country to reform Ren, but our request for comment from First Order was declined._

_As far as we’re concerned, this is just another smear on the reputation of Ren. For someone who’s fanbase is at a record-low after recent allegations of mental abuse from multiple employees and colleagues, including fashion designer Phasma Parnassos. If Johnson has taken on Ren, we wish her the best of luck in his reform._

_Johnson’s former clients most notably include Unkar Plutt, the Governor of New Mexico who formerly was accused of making and distributing child pornography, although that accusation appears that it was circumstantial at best. When betting if there was anyone able to handle the ticking timebomb that is Kylo Ren, we feel confident putting money on Johnson._

_While there are no further detail regarding the nature of the fight at this time, we expect there to be a public statement issued within the week regarding the nature of Johnson’s relationship to Ren, which may help shed further light on this dispute. We have not issued request for comments from Johnson or Ren at this time._

_With bated breath we will continue to keep you informed on Kylo Ren, the man we all love to hate, as well as on newcomer Rey Johnson._

**_STATUS: APPROVED FOR PRINT_ **

**Her –**

She is not intimidated by Kylo Ren. Is _not_ going to stoop to his level and resort to scare tactics.

No, she has survived through worse than a whiny, spoiled brat that thinks his infamy makes him frightening. He’s just underestimating her, trying to make her back off. What Kylo Ren doesn’t understand is that this is more than a job now, that he’s all but declared war. Rey had only planned on talking to him, figuring out what he was trying to cling to with the mask and the attitude, but now, she’d be damned if she didn’t start out by stripping him down to the most basic ass pop persona she could.

If it took playing dirty to get her job done, so be it. He’d let it slip that his face came with baggage, and she was going to dig it all out. It brought a smile to her face, the knowledge that he had all but thrust the tool of his ruin into her hands.

There was only one problem: she didn’t have a picture to run the reverse image search.

She knew where she could get one though.

***

It’s almost too simple. She presses her elbows onto the wooden desk, and leans forward, letting her hair fall around her face.

“You don’t happen to have a picture of Kylo Ren in his file, do you? Can I be honest—” she glances at his nameplate, “Snap? I was all ready to work around that silly mask, to build up the new branding, but I can’t seem to figure out what’s going to still work without it.”

"You-you’ve seen him, though?”

“Not for very long, and it’s quite hard to trust in a vision without really seeing it. I understand, though. I’ll just make do.”

She bites her cheek and lets out an exaggerated exhale. She knew there had to be a picture on file, because her security badge to enter the premise had her picture on it. Snap Wexley, the least “in” person in HR, breaks before she even pulls herself up to head to the door of his office.

“I shouldn’t, but, as long as you won’t tell Mr. Ren… I can print it off. Wi-will that work?”

“Thank you, _so much._ It’s plenty, and I won’t let him know.”

The first thing she does when she steps into the elevator is scan the printout into her Notes app. And then she promptly throws it away when she climbs off the elevator on the first floor. She hadn’t lied, per say, but Wexley didn’t need to know that she was going to use that picture for a little more than she’d mentioned. Scheming never went over well when she slipped up.

It was so exhausting, actively hating Kylo Ren. It was never fun when a client was so resistant to the idea of needing to do something differently that they made a positive thing into a stand-off of wills. And what pissed her off most of all was that she hadn’t even said anything to him yet, other than the most basic bullshit at their initial meeting with the rest of his team. A string of the same buzzwords that had been spattered through her contract, something like “I’d like to progress to more positive media reception of Mr. Ren and open up his persona to appeal to previously excluded demographics.” At the core of it, it was so fucking _simple_ she didn’t even see how he could think that it was some kind of personal offense. Who _didn’t_ want to be seen as alright and be liked by grandmas?

She wasn’t intimidated, and she was strategizing out her win, but it didn’t mean that there wasn’t a moment where she felt in over her head. Like she wasn’t enough to do what it seemed that she had truly been asked to do, based on some of the looks she had gotten in that first meeting. She could suggest, could cover up and restrict, but she couldn’t fix him. She could make him look good, on the outside, but whatever dominance problem and anger issues he had were way out of her realm. The company would need a hell of a therapist for that.

It made her feel small, with the weight of those lofty expectations on her shoulders. Rey hadn’t felt small in that way since she was ten, trying to earn her keep in the first foster home she’d been sent to, where she realized that people didn’t care about her, just what they could get from having her around.

She couldn’t think that way. Wallowing would let the world swallow her up alive, while getting up and doing something would give her a fighting chance to scrape though.

Kylo Ren was not allowed to win. He was not allowed to get to her, even in this roundabout way. She gathered up all the doubt on an inhale, and pushed it away from her mind on an exhale, honing herself in on becoming an expert on everything he seemed to want to hide.

***

How could the truth be so powerful, when all anyone knew was illusion? There were pages upon pages of truth in her notebook now, details once covered up in almost-truths, or perhaps, carefully sidestepped as to air mystery over their legitimacy. Public records couldn’t lie, as it was. She trusted that Bazine Netal didn’t lie, for the amount that she charged for her information.

It made her angry, sad, and the tiniest bit numb. All processing. If she told the truth, she was awed at what he could have been willing to give up. Had given up, based on her current employment. The context was missing, fine, but he had to be the most bullheaded man on the planet to give up his whole life, before, in pursuit of… what exactly?

Artistic integrity? Master rights? She couldn’t try to understand him right now. She was too busy trying to decide that if she felt sorry for him or plain spiteful. Surely there was something from the context that could tie it all together, right?

On paper, there was nothing. No possible reason for Ben Solo to metamorphize into Kylo Ren so wholly. If anything, it was a net loss. And it left her more lost and determined than before.

Rey needed the catapult that success on this project could bring, and she’d truly wanted to try and do it with as little encroachment into “his way”, or whatever he wanted to call it, as possible. It didn’t matter now, because he wanted to make it difficult, and he’d royally fucked up his opportunity for her olive branch. She’d do her job, damn well, dragging him kicking and screaming along if that was what it took, and she’d make it look like he was the paragon of the generation.

She only hoped that somewhere along the way she could figure him out enough that her victory wasn’t entirely an annihilation of everything he seemed to hold dear. Killing his soul wasn’t part of the plan, so long as he realized that he’d have to surrender to keep it somewhat intact.

***

There’s Blu-Tack in her hair when she hears the phone ring. It’s probably Plutt, again, so she continues to attempt to press her glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling above her bed, which is just a hair too high for her to secure them well every time. It’s annoying, to have to stretch or bounce to get enough pressure, but she likes the ambience of the little stars, even if they seem silly to other people.

Her phone rings again, and she grabs for the bridge of her nose. Evidently, she has to answer, or it’s not going to stop ringing. So much for her peaceful afternoon of decorating, of emptying out the remaining boxes of her cherished, not really important for surviving, things.

“Rey Johnson, to whom am I speaking?”

“Miss Johnson, this is Hux, from my office phone. You’re needed at headquarters by one, sharp. Meeting Room 4. We’ll discuss the details then.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Please, do come prepared. I have a feeling that you’ll be the only level-headed person in the meeting.”

Her afternoon was irreparably ruined, wasn’t it? She forced herself to pull her hand away from her face, so that she can push herself up off the edge of the bed. There’s just under forty-five minutes until she’s expected in that meeting, and she’s not even wearing real clothes. It’s a bit of a crunch, with a solid twenty-minute commute, but she is _always_ punctual. _Always._

There’s just no time to waste if she’s going to get down there on time.

***

Rey is four minutes early, which is six minutes later than she’d like to be, but she caught every red light on the way, so it’s not too bad. The only other person in the room is Hux, and the panic in his eyes in clear. He looks like he needs the driest gin she can possibly get a hold of, and way more than one shot of it.

This is one of the small, private meeting rooms, with maybe eight chairs, a table, and a ceiling mounted projector. Whatever happened to warrant her coming in on such short notice is very, terribly bad _and_ needs to be kept quiet. It’s not a good combination.

She becomes increasingly concerned at one minute until the meeting is supposed to start when seven other people finally trickle into the room. Including, of course, Kylo Ren. Ben Solo. Whatever he deserves to be called based on his attitude for the day. The other six she doesn’t know, and she files it away for later. They aren’t dressed business casual, after all, so she can only assume they must be the band. Maybe she’ll never get to a point where she can be friendly with them, but she’d at least like to be able to address them all by name.

It gets quiet as the projector hums to life, and Hux pulls a laser pointer? out of his pocket.

“This article went out at noon. Jannah Calrissian isn’t making waves yet, but her name certainly carries some wait, due to her relation to Lando Calrissian. We’re here to figure out our next steps.”

Thankfully, with the images removed, the article all fit onto the screen. It wasn’t set in stone, Rey noted, but it wasn’t good, just as she had originally assumed.

“Can’t we just, y’know, smear her? She’s not got anything good.”

“Do I have to be here?”

No wonder she’d been asked to come prepared. It was obvious that no one else in the room was, especially the six people she assumed were band members. As she parsed the article time and time again, there was only one plan that came to mind that might actually save Ren’s third album. It wouldn’t make him happy. It certainly wasn’t the most appealing to her either. Her name was already connected to his, right out in the open. And the speculation was walking the line of the truth.

She had to do it, didn’t she? Nobody was supposed to know an image consultant was brought in until they were gone, but it was right there. Seeing as she was surrounded only by whining, nervous sweating, and boiling anger, it was the only good idea anyone was coming up with. Well, fuck.

“We cannot run a smear campaign. Calrissian is a big name to go up against, with likability ratings so low already. I can only see one option running well here, and I’m sure that it’s not going to be anyone’s favorite.”

She swallowed, and pushed herself away from the table, so that she could get to her feet. Every second that she could delay saying it aloud was a moment of freedom she kept.

“Ren, you’re going to have to pretend to date me.”

The tension that had built up in her shoulders suddenly seemed to permeate the air in the conference room, settling over all nine of them, rather than just her. If she had seen any other choice going well, she would have gladly went with it, but this was her life now.

“No.”

"There’s no choice in it, Solo. There’s nothing concrete, but it’s not something we can turn away from. If we’re not spotted out all lovey-dovey in the next three days, you’ll put everyone in this damn building out of a job. Because there won’t be another album. You’ll be run off to Nebraska or somewhere, to work in some shitty diner until you die, constantly chased by the identities of your parents.”

She didn’t like it either, but she wouldn’t turn down someone who was trying to help if she were in his shoes. She could hate him in private, and still play the jealous girlfriend when the world was watching. He would never understand, of course. He’d been born to money, had left money for money, and was still rolling in money. He didn’t have to care about the effects of his reputation.

"Hux, you’ll want to get the interns under control if we’re going through with this. If the media catches wind that it’s not real, there will be no digging back out of the resounding dumpster fire.”

"Miss Johnson, they were relieved of their positions before I called you.”

She couldn’t help but crack a smile. The redhead might have been freaking out, but at least he’d done one sane thing in his rush to action. And her new fake boyfriend was miraculously silent after she’d given him a taste of what she knew, so perhaps they would indeed be able to make it out of this incident only a little bit scratched up.

**Him –**

When he finally got to leave Meeting Room 4, he was somewhere between sulking and pissed off. Everything had been wrong since Hux had brought fucking Rey Johnson into his life. This time, Kylo didn’t want to be pissed off. He wanted to mope around at being told what to do like a child, because it was the one thing that he’d wanted to leave behind and never look back at.

He ordered a ride and slunk up to the studio to wait for it to arrive. He was too exhausted to even put on the façade of having another one of his infamous outbursts. Emotionally exhausted, that was. Hux hadn’t even asked him what he thought. He’d let Johnson do the talking and didn’t even care that it wasn’t his choice. It stung. He’d known Hux for far longer than Hux had know of that infuriating woman, but she got the last word.

His ride got canceled. Just another shitty thing to happen on a shitty day.

Kylo felt small. Smaller than he had felt since he had left his uncle’s conservatory at fifteen. Luke had tried to fix him too.

The memories came rushing back, as much as he didn’t want them to. The invitation to join the conservatory had once been his greatest treasure. Tangible proof that some part of his family _wanted_ him. It would be a steady set of faces, someone always there for him. How wrong he’d been.

It had been undeniable that his talent and ability were there. He could follow a sheet of music just as well as, if not better than, the students getting ready to move on from the conservatory. He just didn’t like to play by the notation. Sometimes, he wanted to interpret the feelings of a piece, rather than play the notes directly off the page. As a soloist, it shouldn’t have been a problem. His time in the practice rooms was his, he had thought. If he played a piece in a different key, or changed bits of the melody, he wasn’t bothering anyone outside of his four soundproofed walls.

Uncle Luke hadn’t appreciated it. Back then, Ben Solo had been forced to play scales and warm-up exercises for hours at a time, rather than anything the other students were given.

_“You’ll keep practicing your scales until you appreciate what we play here.”_

_“Ben, you’re supposed to be working on your playing techniques.”_

It was almost alarming to think of himself as Ben, even in the past tense, after nearly ten years of being Kylo Ren all the time. When he’d walked away on his eighteenth birthday, he shed his past like a winter coat. He shed the expectations of being the virtuoso son of Senator Leia Organa and the drag-racer Han Solo, nephew to the great Luke Skywalker. He took a name of no relation, and worked counters of instrument shops until he could scrub away any connection between his new life and his old.

He’d told himself then that it was because he didn’t care about the legacy he left behind, because his parents had never showed him they cared about him carrying their names on. In reflection, Ben Solo had cared. He was prepared to carve himself a new place in the world, doing whatever he had to in order to get there, and the little kid that still wanted his parents to care about him didn’t want to ruin them because he did something stupid.

Not, apparently, that it mattered anymore.

Rey Johnson had played her cards, and she hadn’t even acted like it took effort to find his birth name. If he had to guess, she knew the public tale of his whole damn life. And he knew nothing about her, except for how much of an ass she could be.

Well, wouldn’t they just be such a fine fake couple?

***

It was dark when he came to, curled up into a ball so his entire body fit onto the shitty old couch in the studio nobody was willing to get rid of. The Knights would have all went home by now, so it really seemed foolish to linger, but there was a welcoming embrace in the solitude of the studio. His hands itched for a trumpet, although he had left the instrument behind in favor of guitars and drums when he had left his past behind. There was a keyboard in the studio though, and while it wouldn’t have the same sound as the baby grand he’d once learned on, it was the closest he was going to get.

He cracked a smile at how little the keys looked in comparison to his fingers, before shutting his eyes. Music didn’t always have to be a planned-out affair to mean something to him. The joy was in playing notes and chords and flinching at the bad and being awed by the good.

For as much time as he’d spent in the studio recently, he’d not been totally happy with the sound of any of it. So here alone, he was going to try being honest with the sound for his third album. He already knew he had to show his face this time around, so why not? He knew the Knights had always been there to back him up about being angry, but it was easy to be angry. He’d been so angry for so long that it was hard to feel strongly in any other way. For once, he just wanted to feel something else. Anything else.

Hopefully, the band would understand. So many people though that they knew him, thought he fit neatly in a box. Was it really so wrong to want to show something a little bit different? He’d been put in so many boxes his whole life. Who was he, before all those boxes jaded him?

Kylo didn’t know. Even his earliest memories were bound by expectations, but he hoped that he would be able to find out.

He started playing, just simple scales. Just to get a feel for the ivory keys that he couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d played. In only a few minutes, it wouldn’t matter. He’d be just as at home as he was on the guitar, or on the drums. The melody, good or bad, came soon after. It was a slip of a piece, barely worth turning into a coda, but most surprisingly of all, it wasn’t tainted with the slightest hint of anger.

No, this tiny melody was forlorn? Well, perhaps not that sad. Certainly raw, and tinged with sadness, but not entirely sad. It was a musical manifestation of the moments that come after the tears spill over, the moment when the ache is all you can know, too soon to be numb and too late to pretend you’re overwhelmed.

It wasn’t Kylo Ren’s sound, for sure. But he was lost in the possibility that it could be. So lost, in fact, he never heard the creak of the door being opened.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve played anything like that. Is it a Kylo sound, or a Ben one?”

He lifted his fingers abruptly from the keys and turned to look at the ginger-headed man in the doorway, whom he wanted to see only marginal more than he wanted to see Rey Johnson: as in, he’d prefer not to, right now.

“It’s just a sound, Hux.”

“Nothing is ever just one thing with you. Never has been. Everyone’s gone home, by the way. Even Miss Johnson, and I’ll be heading out as soon as we’re done here.”

“Just like every other fucking day, yeah. What do you want?”

“I really thought that Rey would be good for us. With the takeover, and whatnot. I know that it’s not your thing to be told what to do, but could you at least try to pull your head out of your ass? Unless sales go up, this album is your last. We’ll go up in flames.”

Kylo doesn’t want to deal with this tonight. He knows what war he’s fighting. To keep artists, when the investors aren’t paying out. To advocate for artistic freedom _and_ a paycheck that allows for a little luxury. His family never did shit for him, but they did leave him enough money to live well on in a trust fund.

“I’m not going to be someone I’m not. Not to impress a bunch of suits who think ‘good’ is whatever that shit is they’re playing on the awards circuit. Not when I’m already going along with this stupid dating bullshit so the media storm blows over.”

It takes him off guard when Hux laughs and crosses the room to put a hand on his shoulder. “I get it, now. You’re both bloody wankers. No wonder you can’t get along.”

As abruptly as he came across the room, Hux goes back to the doorframe, without a hint of hesitation, until the moment before he steps out of the room.

“Make sure you lock up when you leave. I’ve got enough to do without Trudgen on my case about someone fucking with her guitar.”

It’s just him and his stupid little melody again. Well, him, the melody, and that conversation, still spinning in his head.

***

There is work to be done. There always is when albums are in their early stages. The songs are important, but so is all the press work. He’d rather be in the studio, holed up with the band, telling bad jokes and seeing who could play the longest guitar solo before stopping.

Instead, Kylo is standing around, glaring daggers into Rey Johnson’s head. He’s never worked with a single one of these professionals before, and he’s only heard of one of them. Who has, in five minutes of his arrival, spilled the beans of his birth name, and asked about the only person he hates more than Rey Johnson: his uncle.

“C’mon Ben, least you can do is tell us if he’s up to genius in his retirement from Skywalker Conservatory.”

Poe Dameron was a pain in the ass when they were five, in the same private-school kindergarten class. Now, he’s like having a whole knife shoved in there, sideways.

“We don’t talk.”

It’s bad enough that this photoshoot is going to stir up the media, as the first set of photos featuring Kylo Ren’s face, out from behind the mysterious mask. It’s worse that the accompanying interview is where he’s expected to break the news of his “girlfriend” _and_ announce the first single, which he hasn’t even written yet.

Dameron has turned the situation up to eleven.

“Ben—erm, Kylo, we’ve got you set up back here to change.”

This tiny Asian woman is perhaps the only person on this set who he doesn’t want to send running away. He’s got no clue what she does, exactly, but anyone who gets him away from Dameron today has to be half decent.

Except of course, she just leads him around a curtain and to someone else he’s not sure how he feels about. Mostly because he doesn’t know her, but also, because she’s holding up shears that feel very much like a threat to hiding his obnoxious ears.

Who even hired this crew, anyways? And where was this being published? Kylo was almost positive he’d been in every magazine under the sun that still covered music in some way at this point, and never once had a photoshoot been this uncomfortable for him. It couldn’t have been the mask, even, because he usually showed up without it and put it on when the camera turned to him.

“Wardrobe is super simple today, just a few basics out of the new Dameron Fashions line, designed by moi. And then we’ll get you sent on to Kaydel, who’ll do hair, and any makeup that the camera test determines.”

He offers this woman, who’s half his size a quick nod, and desperately wishes for a stiff drink. Maybe one of those pills he’d took on his first tour, off somewhere in Beijing, maybe, or was he in Hong Kong? He’d have done anything they wanted then, without a care in the world, because everything had been so _soft_ around the edges.

Before they could ask, he started the quick, methodical process of taking his own clothes off and putting them to the side. It was easier than waiting for someone to make the final call on what to dress him up in and then have them change their mind and send him on millions of trips into their makeshift dressing “rooms”.

Then again, it wasn’t like fame had ever offered him modesty, except for what he’d carved out for himself. And he’d ruined that too, so he might as well get used to having no privacy at all.

He could only say that this time, it was partially his choice. Some part of him had known what he was giving up, in that fight. Sure, Hux had insinuated the night before that he needed to learn to compromise, but Kylo _was_ , in his way. It just never seemed to occur to other people to think of it that way, evidently.

And, yeah, he nagged at himself sometimes that people didn’t understand that because he never let them close enough to understand why he felt the need to make his concessions on his own terms, that he’d never clued people in on what it was like to like with a politician and a drag-racer.

The simple explanation was that he didn’t feel like he had to share his sob story with every damn person he crossed paths with.

That, for once in his life, people could meet him where he was, instead of forcing him to agree to their terms.

He should have known that would never go over well. His entire life he’d been used, so why wouldn’t his adulthood be the same way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is always welcome, and most cherished!

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing's set in stone on chapter count yet... but it's my best guess. Remember: comments and kudos are writing fuel, and showing some love if you like where we're headed is the best way to get me writing more faster!


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